


Lightbearer

by Dragon_Of_The_South_Wind (Hoodie_2_Shoes)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Dragon spirit!Hanzo, Dragon!Genji - Freeform, Dragon!Hanzo, Dragons, Dragonslayer!Reinhardt, Fairy Tale Retellings, Growing Old Together, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Mythology - Freeform, Old Age, Road Trips, Romance, human!Hanzo, is my weakness, makes a cameo, makes more sense I think??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 00:51:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13043085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodie_2_Shoes/pseuds/Dragon_Of_The_South_Wind
Summary: Reinhardt was hunting down a beast terrorizing villages when he had an unusual encounter with a peculiar dragon: an extraordinary creature of great beauty with glowing, sorrowful eyes, and a spike up its arm. Many years later destiny brought him to its crossroads, where his fate intertwined with that of a mysterious man named Hanzo.My (long overdue) project for the Day 3 prompt of Reinzo Week 2017: Mythology! A fantasy romance between our two sappy old men, inspired and adapted (with a different ending!) from the Japanese folklore of the Crane Wife.Complete with 2 parts and an epilogue.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to take me 3 days and instead took me ten. I am ashamed. 
> 
> I had always adored the beautiful love story of the Japanese legend of [Tsuru no Ongaeshi](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tsuru_no_Ongaeshi) and the idea of dragonslayer!Rein had been in my head for quite a while so I thought why not do a mashup? 
> 
> This is my first attempt at fantasy writing and I pray it comes off the way I hope it would! I need to stop getting hyperfixated on scenes and learn to tell a running story for my own sake. 
> 
> Jeremy Soule's [Soundtrack for The Elder Scrolls](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h9WudJDkeBI) plays a VERY huge part in the creating of this. Plug it in and it will be much better. I promise.

The wanderer emerged from the woods to a glorious sunset, dusk gently descending over a boundless stretch of water as the waves roared. 

 

Trails of blood lead Reinhardt to this secluded coast, with pleas from the villagers to investigate their missing livestock. Sightings of horrible beasts were good for business. A dragon, they said, soaring in the dead of night and plucking away the sheep. Reinhardt was hoping for something easier, like mountain trolls, but he couldn’t pass up the heavy sack of gold. As perilous as they were, he had slain one too many dragons along the path from his homeland; his missing eye was no work of an ordinary goblin. 

 

He climbed a hill of barren rocks, struggling against the incline with his armor plates and shield borrowed from the blacksmith. Out of the forest the wind was heavy with the taste of salt. He was halfway from the foot when he sensed a low, rumbling purr from beneath the earth and stopped dead in his tracks, heart thumping. Any doubt with his task now dissipated like molten snow. When it showed no sign of disturbance Reinhardt continued on, now acutely aware of his metallic footfalls. 

 

At the edge was a six-foot drop to a ledge that hung over the shore, and Reinhardt only cringed at the single  _ clank  _ as he landed. Heights seemed diminished in the face of this greater evil. Behind him a cave opened its jagged maw into a partly illuminated chamber with no end in sight. He drew in a long breath, and pulled his sword.  _ Gram  _ seemed to be vibrating in the frozen air as the dying light leaped off its obsidian blade. Inward he marched until he heard the unmistakable growl, a steady but resounding gurgle of a giant creature in its slumber.

 

_ Easy does it.  _ Reinhardt trod on with his body shrunk into a mass behind the shield. He tried to press down his own breathing, eyes peeled for movement as he delved into the shadows——

 

The darkness unmasked itself as quickly as a waterfall and the faded outline of a dragon sprung into view. 

 

Reinhardt was so close he could feel the creature’s exhaled air brush his face. He took a step back, then another, before the entirety of the sleeping dragon, curled up in an almost-coil,  entered the frame. It belonged to an odd breed; a completely different one, in fact, from the terrible lizards that plagued the highlands of Eichenwalde. It had peculiar jade blue skin, its iridescence dimmed by the gloom as scales rippled along the serpentine body; fiery growths of yellow hair decorated its jaw and snout, with a pair of jagged male horns and whiskers that reminded him of lobsters. It embodied everything the dragons in the west were not: majestic, ancient, cast in an unspeakable air of otherworldliness. Reinhardt had to pull himself from his trance; he came with a mission.

 

_ Pity, _ he thought,  _ such a magnificent beast to be put down. _

 

He approached its neck; the unscaled part was exposed as its throat rose and fell. He could only pray its skin was vulnerable to obsidian like its ugly cousins were. Reinhardt took one long look, almost in mourning, before raising his sword. 

 

The blade crashed into the cavern ceiling, louder than thunder.

 

The dragon’s eyes snapped open, two orbs that burned like torches in the dark. Instinctively Reinhardt leaped back and cursed his own stupidity, mind racing as he faced down the creature’s snarling jaw, felt his own resolution crumbling when he stared into the amber eyes shining with——

 

Fear. Those were fearful eyes. 

 

Never in Reinhardt’s monster-slaying career had he been more surprising than when this great beast retreated against the wall further into the cave, limbs flailing, its wandering gaze almost helpless. Its screech was little more than apprehensive. Years upon years of experience failed him then; to find a dragon appearing scared in front of a human was unthinkable. Had it never encountered civilization before? Or was it a domesticated outcast from a faraway land? 

 

All his questions untangled in a single stroke when he saw the spear piercing all the way through its bicep, barely missing the abdomen. It was stained black and gleaming; a fresh wound. Only then did he notice the way its leg slackened as the dragon stood crooked, pressing its weight on the other side. A thought came to him:  _ this one can still fly if someone took it out _ , followed by  _ why should I care?  _ Reinhardt never knew reading the thoughts of such a creature was possible, but its dread was painfully clear. He could even smell it if he tried hard enough, beneath the brine in the sea breeze and the faint stench of blood. He felt his resolve waver as the dragon’s despair only seemed to grow.

 

And the years that followed were set in stone, with his first step forward. 

 

His movement elicited an agitated hiss. Reinhardt sheathed his weapon, dropped his shield, and stood anxiously with open palms. When the dragon seemed to unwind, he took a measured step forward, then another, until he was standing next to the spear impaled in its flesh, enormous up close. All the while a rough croak sounded deep within its throat, an indignant sound from a dragon if he’d ever heard one. 

 

_ Saving the damn beast I’m supposed to hunt down from a stab wound. There goes my gold. _

 

He inspected the spear: a standard fishing harpoon, its steel tip caked in dried blood. Reinhardt found some comfort to see the shaft was made of wood. Quietly he drew his sword as to not alert the beast, steadied, and made a clean slice. There was little more than a pained hiss from the dragon when he tugged the spear free. Reinhardt laughed in spite of himself, tossing the broken harpoon aside. The idea of being attacked evaded him as he watched the dragon inspect its wound with a curious expression. 

 

It turned to regard him with a tenderness he couldn’t quite place. Friendliness? Gratitude? He quickly dismissed the preposterous thought.  _ Thankful a meal knocked on its door, more likely.  _ He again surrendered his palms for safety. The dragon cocked its head as if confused. Its attempt to crawl ended in another awful moan.

 

“You still need to clean that,” the foreign sound earned the dragon’s attention. Reinhardt made a flapping motion and pointed to the ocean while slowly backing away. He made a splashing motion and felt stupid immediately. Its eyes followed him intently, and Reinhardt could only pray the message went through. “Stay away from humans” was much harder to convey; he hoped it had the sense to stay alive as much as it already did. Slowly he retreated to the clearing——

 

And stumbled when a deafening shriek from behind knocked him off his feet. 

 

A green dragon, smaller but not at all sickly, perched between them and the cave entrance, nostrils flaring and ready to pounce. It was Reinhardt who had his back against the wall then, the shield beyond his reach. He felt paralyzed, his sweat running cold when he realized this one was out for blood. All of a sudden his trembling fingers couldn’t find the hilt of his sword. It began slithering towards him with flashing teeth——

 

And disappeared from sight when something stood in its path. 

 

Reinhardt could hear his own galloping heartbeat as glimmering scales hovered just inches away, the creature he just saved making a defensive growl against its kin. Reinhardt observed similar features on the predator, now snarling at his guardian instead. They exchanged several shrill cries with Reinhardt pinned in the corner before the smaller dragon relented, backing to the side with a grunting noise.

 

The greater dragon turned around and made a weird tip of its head—surely it can’t be bowing—and nudged his head in a gesture that was disturbingly human:  _ Go.  _ Reinhardt was too stunned to object, picking up his shield and dashing for the way out, armor plates rattling. The resentful youngling hissed threateningly as he passed, and persisted until Reinhardt was clambering up the rocks. He caught one last glimpse of the blue dragon glimmering in the dying light as he heaved himself up and ran with all his might to leave the ocean behind him. The next thing he knew he was slumped against a tree, panting as night settled around him, noises of the familiar wilderness slowly returning to his senses. 

 

He never saw the creature again for a long, long time. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Nine years later**

 

The ambush was over in a rather literal flash. Reinhardt was still recovering from the stars swimming behind his eyelids when he felt a force tug at his waist, and a spittle-ridden voice: “Oi, Hog, jus’ leave that be. You’re no good with a sword and it’s pro’ly just junk anyway. I had the gold. Grab his horse and get goin’.”

 

With that the raiders left him, disoriented and groaning and lying on a bed of empty bomb shells. His skin was burning all over. One look at the scorch marks on his thigh told him he won’t be walking anytime soon. With a grunt he flipped himself around, grunting as dried leaves dug into the burns on his arm.

 

The sky turned grey. Reinhardt dragged himself to the nearest tree, head still spinning from the fall when his steed threw him off. After catching his breath he tried to stand and had his knees buckle from beneath him. All those nomadic years had taken its toll, and a part of him feared this was the one hit where he would come undone.

 

Slowly the winter moon rose, against a backdrop of chirping insects that wove into the chilling air along the mountain trail. His rest proved fruitless. The survival instinct in him screamed every time his eyelids drooped, and each time he slipped further under the cold. The pain retreated to a dull ebbing in the back of his mind, and with it the strength to haul himself up. Not when the closest town was one hill away, no. He knew for certain there would be no travelers. He just wanted to close his eyes—

 

“...this. You need to stay warm. Can you hear me?”

 

A voice, creeping in from the shadows. His working eye took a moment to register the man facing him, awash in the pale moonlight. Reinhardt had never seen him before. Dark hair, thin-bearded jaw, cold eyes. He was holding out a gourd.

 

“Who are you? How did you find me?”

 

“Drink,” he ordered instead, fishing out a bottle as Reinhardt received the container with shaking hands. It was some sort of wine, thick and sharp in his throat. “This is going to sting. Please try not to shout.”

 

Reinhardt didn’t. The cloth he doused in a clear liquid was now pressed on Reinhardt’s thigh wound, and it soothed the burn as much as it tingled. The man then proceeded to treat Reinhardt’s waist and shoulder. The heat on his skin faded away, and his head was clear again. He observed the man in his blue _kyudo-gi_ , the purpose burning in his eyes. Reinhardt couldn’t look away.

 

The man carried him on horseback, through a winding path of silence as they made for the town, a small clump of torches in the distance. All Reinhardt could do was study his tied-up hair and broad back, and bite through what’s left of his injuries. He clearly didn’t have much to talk, and Reinhardt respected that, but he couldn’t deny himself the intrigue. He made Reinhardt stay at an inn while his wounds healed, bringing him breakfast and letting the innkeeper do the rest.

 

On the third morning Reinhardt could bear no longer. “I still haven’t got your name, sir.”

 

The man stood holding his porridge and, for the first time, looked him proper in the eye. “Hanzo.”

 

“Hanzo,” Reinhardt mouthed the words. “Reinhardt Wilhelm. I owe you my thanks, Hanzo. It was an incredible thing, what you did.”

 

“I couldn’t leave a man in need,” he said, and attempted a smile. Some of the effects was lost on his regal stature, but Reinhardt was delighted he was dealing with a pleasant fellow. It was rather hard to judge before, with his air of detachment from the common folk. “Nothing remarkable.”

 

Reinhardt asked him to stay, and Hanzo complied. He told him he was on his way home from a long journey, across the plains and untamed lands ahead, to seek out the last of his family. A place called Hanamura in the Eastern lands, somewhere even Reinhardt had never heard off. It sounded like an adventure staring him right in the face.

 

“It is going to be dangerous, is it not?”

 

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Hanzo said, his voice without worry.

  
Was it impulsive? Many a person had made the remark on Reinhardt’s temperament. But he trusted his gut, and it had served him well over the years. He had little regrets.

 

“You will need an escort.”

 

“What?”

 

“Let me accompany you. It is the least I can do for you saving my life.”

 

“No,” he said. “This will take years. It is too large of a favor.”

 

“I am a man on the road, like you. People with homes to return to won’t be traveling on that damned path, you know.” Reinhardt said, and saw him frown. “You would be doing me one if I can find something to be occupied with. Just think of it as having a companion, for the time being. Look out for each other’s backs.”

 

“You don’t know me. How could you trust me?”

 

“The same reason you trusted me to not be playing dead before robbing you in the middle of nowhere, I can only imagine.”

 

He took less convincing than Reinhardt had imagined. They left town two days later, Reinhardt using nearly half of his reserve gold tucked beneath his belt for a chestnut horse and some ale. They rode towards the dawning sun, and rested under any shelter they could find at night. It soon became clear that Reinhardt was much better skilled in making fires. Hanzo’s slender bow proved itself of great worth as food ran scarce. With the villages growing further apart chances of running into raiders grew slim, and they traveled on with little disturbances save for the occasional goblin or serpent. Gold pieces were earned by selling fresh game to the local market, and once a bear to a merchant in the fur trade. They made good enough money for occasional indulgences.

 

Hanzo’s potion never crossed his mind until the claws of a mountain lion found its way to his partner’s leg. Hanzo, through gritted teeth, instructed Reinhardt through the procedure as they sat beside the animal now lying in a pool of its own blood. The liquid seemed like plain water but with the faint whiff of salt. Reinhardt found its healing effects astounding, the gash stitching itself together before the cloth even dried until all that’s left was a gnarly pink trail of flesh. He asked the reasonable question.

 

“It’s… a family remedy,” Hanzo answered, eyes inexplicably drawn to the ground as he talked. “something my grandparents taught me to make. You wouldn’t have heard of the ingredients. They’re all found back home.”

 

Not a word was spoken when Reinhardt noticed the bottle again later, filled to the brim.   

 

Weirdly enough they have never encountered another dragon on their path. Over the years Reinhardt gathered word of nests hunted down and its inhabitants destroyed, and it sent through him a pang of melancholy. The almost dream-like encounter fluttered up his waking hours from time to time. He brought this up with Hanzo once as they rested by their camp, and was met with amused curiosity.

 

“I always wonder what they are like. Stayed away from infested regions whenever I could, but they _are_ my family’s sigil.” Reinhardt made a mental note: that explains the tattoos. “Were they really as vicious as the stories told?”

 

“Most of the time, yes. No-good pests always off stealing livestock, and worse when they can only find people walking around. Those that breathe fire? Nasty pieces of work.” There was a long pause as the memory resurfaced; it was not easy articulating something he never intended to tell another living soul. “But there was this time… I found a special one. Beautiful as anything I have seen. It was wounded, and I tried to save it.”

 

Hanzo was incredulous. “You? Saving a dragon?”

 

“Believe me, I ask myself that every night.” Reinhardt chuckled. “Had a harpoon right up its arm, probably from some panicked fisherman. Slashed it right in half with _Gram_ and took it out. Still wonder if it’s out there somewhere.”

 

“Hmm,” Hanzo mused, and smiled. It was a wondrous thing to behold. “You should tell me more. Someone who names his sword after a god and lost an eye slaying dragons must have exciting tales.”

 

“Ha! You have no idea!”

 

Their mostly wordless party died with the campfire that night, and the two men grew to bond over ale. Vendors with rice wine were hard to come by, and as much as they tried to tone down the drinking, Hanzo got tipsy on the common brew quick. He allowed himself to unwind, laughed at Reinhardt’s tales, but not much about himself. Snippets of his past were nothing more than pages from a thick leather-bound, and topics of his family or the scar on his right arm he tried so hard to mask were forbidden chapters. Reinhardt didn’t probe; he enjoyed the man’s company as it was. His quiet intensity, his collected composure, the compassion that shone through the surface during his better days. Reinhardt found himself catching every little smile of his and couldn’t find a reason.

 

It had been many moons later when Reinhardt confessed his feelings, sitting in a tavern with Hanzo as the beer made everything crystallize under the light. He still remembers the way Hanzo’s eyes glisten, how the air between them froze and glowed and shattered into a million pieces.

 

They made love in a local inn and, for the first time since their year-and-half journey, stayed together in bed past afternoon. They came to the agreement where they should lay off intimacy to hasten their trip, a promise none of them intended to keep. Stops at towns grew frequent. Some days they found time for each other in the woods, when the yearning was overpowering and the wind cool on their skin. Each morning Reinhardt woke up next to the man he loved, whose eyes held wonders.

 

One summer evening they arrived at a village and came head to head with a mob armed with crossbows and nets, galloping past on horseback as they headed towards the mountains beyond. They found answers in the first eatery they came across that serves liquor.

 

“Oh, those folk? Off dragon hunting,” the owner said. Reinhardt and Hanzo shared a look. “the kids around here saw one, right behind the valley in the west. Not even a single dragon in the area for the past couple of years now. You see why they are excited.”

 

“Was it stealing your animals? I heard dragons do that when they’re close to a human settlement.” Reinhardt asked, trying to keep his tone conversational.

 

“Oh, no, no,” she waved the suggestion away. “Have you not heard? The capital sent word out three months ago to capture those beasts alive, and they pay for one handsomely. The tears of a dragon worth a castle nowadays, especially the eastern breed. Last I heard they cure everything above the bones.”

 

Her last words rang hollow in Reinhardt’s ears. At his side Hanzo’s shoulders stiffened. Images rushed by in a whir: Hanzo’s scar, the self-replenishing tonic, the tattoo. The dragon’s intense gaze, bowing its head after shielding him from harm, returned vividly. There was a flutter of footsteps and Hanzo was nowhere to be seen.

 

“Hanzo!” Reinhardt burst out of the shop, his thoughts dancing like leaves in a storm. They flooded his mind with shades of blue, two burning reptilian eyes merging into another familiar set of brown irises. He decided it was too much to process, and put his mind on running.

 

He stormed up the stairs of the inn to find Hanzo across the narrow corridor, right outside their room and a knapsack slung over his shoulder. Their eyes met and for a moment all movement ceased, the distance between them stretching itself into a chasm. Rays from the dusty windows cast Hanzo’s silhouette in a golden halo. There was no insecurity or contempt in his look, just an aching sadness that bled into the evening light and made him look ancient.

 

Reinhardt broke the silence and it broke his heart in return. “So this is it? You’re leaving?”

 

“It is my mistake for letting you stay,” Hanzo said. “I was just trying to return a favor but I didn’t back away soon enough. I just couldn’t. And now I must leave. I cannot let my foolishness put you in danger.” He strutted past Reinhardt with eyes trained ahead. “Forgive me, Reinhardt.”

 

Reinhardt didn’t think. His body acted before the words could even sink in. He turned and spun Hanzo around by the shoulder, and took the man into his arms. His struggle felt half-hearted against Reinhardt’s chest, like something he couldn’t quite convince himself of.

 

“No, you don’t understand—”

 

“I don’t need to,” Reinhardt said firmly. “I don’t care about what stories you tell. I care about you. I need you.” Feelings Reinhardt never knew were inside him tumbled out of his mouth. “All I did was took out a little prick, but you gave me the greatest gift. You can’t take that away without killing me. So please, don’t go.”

 

He felt Hanzo turn limp in his embrace. Reinhardt held his lover tighter, and heard him sob freely. Teardrops rolled onto his back, and they were warm.

 

“Reinhardt… what _are_ you?”

 

“Nothing but a mortal who had his heart stolen a long time ago.”


	3. Epilogue

Seasons drifted by, lighter than a feather. 

 

They kept Hanzo’s secret close to themselves, so not even the wind could carry it away. The two passed as wandering riders from the west and were met with little questions, save for the occasional wink from nosy innkeepers. Rumors of dragons grew sparser the further they travel. Reinhardt asked him about his brother once, and Hanzo told him that he would be safe, that he felt the spirit of the younger Shimada growing stronger by the day.

 

Hanzo gave him all the answers, over time. His two states and everything he felt in between. Reinhardt could not understand half of them, but he tried, and Hanzo’s presence brought him solace. The aspect of mystery did not trouble him when they belonged to the hands that caressed him in his sleep. 

 

They crossed the continent as flowers bloomed and fell and bloomed again. Hanzo taught him how to swim in a lake they stumbled across in autumn, where they spent half a day in the icy water, splashing and kissing like a couple of runaway teenagers. Reinhardt had a local mason carve his partner a new bow when they found a dead Osage tree in the tundra. They learned fishing from a wizened hermit whom they had mistaken for a bandit and had dangling from a branch with their trap, and decided to share a boar as an apology. Reinhardt had Hanzo cut his hair somewhere along the way. They fell asleep in a field of wildflowers, and shared passionate nights beneath the stars. 

 

Light snow blanketed Hanamura when they arrived, greeted at the Shimada castle gate by a young man with scarred but handsome figures. The reunion was awkward, but affectionate. Reinhardt was treated with only a short period of hostility before the young master saw him as a guest, then a family. 

 

Hanzo married him the very next spring, beneath the explosion of cherry blossoms Reinhardt had grown to adore. They would turn grey together, hand in each other’s, Reinhardt counting each day a blessing for the rest of his days. 

 

For in Hanzo’s eyes beared the light of his sun and stars, where his life began. 

**Author's Note:**

> I loved all the prompts for this year so please [check everyone's work out](http://reinzo-week.tumblr.com/)! I would've written for a couple more if I didn't have finals coming and this thing got overextended to hell and back but heck if I didn't like this quite a bit! 
> 
> Shoutout to the amazing FuckYeahReinzo discord server! Y'all are wonderful. 
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](http://hoodie-two-shoes.tumblr.com/)!


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